


That's What You Get (For Waking Up In Vegas)

by PeaceSign_MiddleFinger



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Gratuitous references to Celine Dion, Horse Girl Erik Johnson, M/M, Woke Up Married, vegas shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 00:45:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19734964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeaceSign_MiddleFinger/pseuds/PeaceSign_MiddleFinger
Summary: All that is to say that when Brass texts about a trip to Vegas, Erik agrees without a second thought. Nothing like a multi-day bender with his boys to get over the disappointment of a season cut short. Nothing lifts his spirits like teaching the kids to bet on horse racing. He may have missed his chance to take some of the boys to the Derby this year (not that he’s complaining!) but he’ll be damned if he can’t fit some horse-related bonding into this trip.





	That's What You Get (For Waking Up In Vegas)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fic ever, for any fandom, but after all the boys' insta posts about Vegas, I couldn't NOT write the fic. The world needs more Sam/EJ, and I'm happy to contribute to it. My eternal gratitude to Lotts and Ali, without whom this certainly wouldn't have happened. It's at least 65% Lotts' fault I even had the idea and probably 80% Ali's fault that I decided to write it. You two are the best and I love you with my whole heart.
> 
> Title from Katy Perry's "Waking Up In Vegas", which I'm kind of embarrassed about, but I couldn't come up with a better title and that's what I called it because "Sammy/EJ Vegas Fic" was a terrible working title.

Two days later and the elimination still hurts more than Erik wants to admit. Even making it to Game 7, making it to the second round - hell, even managing to play in all 12 post-season games! - doesn’t make it hurt less. At 31, Erik is keenly aware that his days to win a Cup are numbered. His contract is for another 4 seasons, but there are days when he wonders if he’ll even make it that long, and that’s not even counting the looming spectre of another lockout cutting into one of those seasons. All that is to say that when Brass texts about a trip to Vegas, Erik agrees without a second thought. Nothing like a multi-day bender with his boys to get over the disappointment of a season cut short. Nothing lifts his spirits like teaching the kids to bet on horse racing. He may have missed his chance to take some of the boys to the Derby this year (not that he’s complaining!) but he’ll be damned if he can’t fit some horse-related bonding into this trip. 

Unsurprisingly, basically everyone else seems to feel like Erik does about going to Vegas. Most of the guys with families sit it out, Josty and Grub can’t make it, since they got tapped for Worlds, and Nate is staying home because he’s got about 47 doctor’s appointments in the next few days because he’s a stubborn jackass who will play through anything that won’t actually kill him. Plus, he’s on the good drugs, so he can’t drink anyway, and there’s no way he wants to be sober for whatever madness is going to happen over the weekend.

***

No amount of torture would make him admit it to another human, but when Erik shows up at the airport to meet up with the Vegas-bound group, he immediately looks for Sam. Sam isn’t there though, which is a surprise given that his 21st birthday is the next day. Sammy has been legal for years in Canada, but still, missing out on the chance to spend a milestone birthday in Vegas days after the end of a disappointing playoff run seems like a terrible choice. Then again, Erik has always been impressed with the kid’s maturity. He can’t really blame Sam for not wanting to risk death by alcohol poisoning with his idiot teammates. He asks Brass about it, hoping that Sam is just running late, but Brass confirms that Sam isn’t coming with them. Erik tries really hard to ignore the flash of disappointment that hits him, shrugs and boards the plane. Gabe, ever the menace, suggests that Sam skipped out just to avoid a drunken Celine Dion birthday serenade from Tyson, which honestly. Erik can’t fault him if that’s indeed the case. “It’s All Coming Back To Me Now” just isn’t a good party song, no matter how many time Tys tries to convince them all it is. 

The flight to Vegas feels almost like a roadie with all the boys together. Gabe even sits next to him like he does on team flights. It stops feeling like a team function about 15 minutes in though, when the booze starts flowing. The older guys (and fuck, it’s been years but he’s still not used to being an old guy in the room) pour themselves drinks, but the kids settle in with bottles. Erik half considers stealing Compher’s bottle of whiskey, but then he remembers his post-Christmas party hangover and decides pacing himself is the way to go. Getting old is the worst. 

“I’m going to get so fucked up I don’t even remember what hockey IS,” proclaims Comph as he takes a swig straight from the bottle EJ had been eyeing. 

“That’s the spirit!” Tyson turns in his seat to reach back and grab the bottle from JT and takes his own swig. 

“Fucking refs. Fucking Sharks,” mutters Nieto darkly as he stares into the cup in his hand. 

“Okay boys,” says Colsey, “new fucking rule. You have to take a shot every time you mention hockey for the rest of the trip. Also, it’s a $50 fine.” Brass holds out his fist and Cole bumps it. 

“You can’t fine us, season’s over,” protests Kerf, “and that doesn’t count towards mentioning hockey, I’m getting the rules straight.”

“What do you think, Cap? Are fines allowed?” Cole tips his cup towards Gabe. 

Gabe looks at Erik as if his Alternate duties extend to this nonsense. His role as an A certainly extends off the ice, but honestly, he’s with JT on just wanting to get hammered and forget about everything, so he doesn’t much care one way or the other what the penalty for bringing up their frankly bullshit elimination is. He takes a swig of his drink for even THINKING about hockey and then sticks his tongue out through the gap in his teeth. Like fuck is he dealing with his teeth on this trip. Gabe seems to get what he means. “Okay, since we’re not in season, no fines.”

Kerf honest-to-God fist pumps. “But!” Gabe continues, “you have to buy everyone a round.”

“Fuck, that’s going to run more than $50, I take back my complaint.”

“Good work, Harvard!” Mikko chirps.

“Hey, at least I can do math!”

Erik drains his cup as the chirping continues. He loves his boys so much. They’re all idiots (he’s including himself in that assessment), but they’re his boys. An early exit hurts and probably will for a while, but this is going to be a hell of a weekend. 

***

Erik is definitely feeling the booze by the time they touch down in Vegas. Of course, he’s far from the only one. Gravy and Barbs seem to have their shit pretty well together, but everyone else is that special kind of loud and ridiculous that comes from being in the sweet spot of mild inebriation. JT is draped over Kerf’s back, arms wrapped loosely over his shoulders as he nuzzles into his roommate’s neck while they wait for the shuttle to the hotel. Okay, so maybe the babies are a little drunker than everyone else. Also, he was pretty sure that there was something going on between JT and Josty, but he’s not about to get in the middle of things. It’s none of his business anyway. 

***   
They get checked in at the hotel and elect to grab lunch at the restaurant there before heading out to hit the casinos. There’s a heated discussion of which specific places they need to go during the trip - Tyson is bound and determined to see the Celine Dion show before her residency ends - but Erik generally stays out of it. He’ll probably play a hand or two of blackjack, but card games aren’t really his thing and all the casinos let you bet on horse racing. More importantly, all the casinos have bars and he’s really just here to drink and spend time with his team before they all scatter for the summer. Eventually, they agree on which casino they’re going to for the afternoon and head out. 

Most of the guys make a beeline for the poker tables when they get to the casino, but Erik manages to wrangle a few stragglers. It’s mostly the younger guys and Tyson, whose poker face is so bad that he’s essentially been banned from playing poker for any sort of real money. Erik turns to his little rag-tag band of teammates and steeples his fingers in front of his face like some sort of Bond villain. “Alright, boys. Who’s ready to learn the ins and outs of horse racing?” 

JT rolls his eyes but seems to accept his fate since Kerf is already at a table for poker, and Gravy actually seems to be interested. Mikko and Tyson are definitely a lost cause in terms of actually learning anything, but they’re willing to join the group. Erik leads the group over to the betting area and grabs a few sheets for tracks he knows about before settling into a table in front of one of the TVs showing racing. “Okay boys, let’s discuss some horses.”

In the end, Gravy is the only one who listens to anything he has to say about actually placing smart bets on horses. Compher keeps checking Worlds results on his phone and ignoring the races and Mikko and Tyson compete to find the horse with the most ridiculous name and choose to bet on it, but Erik is pretty happy with how the afternoon is going. When Gabe wanders by and tells him there’s a Konami horse racing game, the afternoon gets even better. 

Gabe agrees to stick around for a race or two, which is enough to convince Tyson and Mikko to give it a shot. The mechanical horses racing around the track in the middle are enough to at least temporarily grab the attention of Compher, even if he does spend more time snapping videos of them to Josty than he does actually trying to bet on them. Cole drifts over and plays for a while between poker games and so do Kerf and Brass. Kerf turns out to be pretty good at betting, and his interest in the game makes JT a little more willing to pay attention. On the whole, it’s more horse-related entertainment than Erik expected to get the boys to take part in, so he’s calling it a win and goes without a fight when Tyson starts complaining that he’s wasting away and needs to eat immediately.

Much like lunch, dinner is spent strategizing. Tyson agrees to put off going to see Celine until the next night in the name of team bonding, although Gabe has to promise to go with him and buy all his drinks at the show. Once that’s been squared away though, debate breaks out over which clubs they need to hit together that night. Cole, of all people, has some very strong opinions, which conflict with Nieto’s strong opinions and Mikko has hit the stage of drunkenness where he’s just arguing with people because he can. Things get heated enough that Kerf threatens to make a spreadsheet to optimize their club selection. Mercifully, it doesn’t come to that, but Kerf does wrangle them into settling on one of Cole’s votes, once of Nieto’s, and one that Google maps says is roughly between the two, just to make their club hopping easier. With that, they break to head back to their rooms to get ready to go out. 

***  
Their second stop of the night has some sort of ridiculous projector setup that alternates between lights shows and special shoutouts to the bachelorette and birthday parties happening there. It reminds Erik a little bit of the pre-game projection at Pepsi Center. That realization gives him a genius idea. 

“Tys. Hey, Tyson!” He grabs at Barrie’s arm and pulls him close, bends down so he can speak into his ear instead of yelling over the music. “I just had the best idea. See their lights show?” He points up at the slanted wall, which is currently switching between a photo of a blonde girl holding up her hand to show off a ring and neon pink writing that reads “Welcome Meghan’s Bachelorette Party!”

Tyson turns to him, eyes wide and face lit up with delight. Holy fuck, Erik loves his boys. “Okay, who are we about to embarrass? Gabe? Nahhhhhh, they wouldn’t be able to fit his huge forehead up there.”

“Gabe likes the attention too much anyway. Mikko?”

“He would think it was hilarious. That has potential. Wait! What about one of the babies? Kerf? Kid wouldn’t know what to do with himself.”

Erik claps a hand around Tyson’s shoulder and gives him a shake. “This is why I love you, Brutes. Now we just gotta figure out who to talk to to make this happen. And find a good photo.”

“Great! You find a photo, I’m going to go get us drinks. Then we’ll go talk to the DJ about getting our message up.” Erik commends him for this brilliant plan. It has, after all, been at least half an hour since he’s had a drink in his hand after the amount of time it took to decide on the next stop for the night plus the walk over (look, the last thing they need is their own version of the Ottawa Uber drama and more than one of the boys had already bought a round for breaking the “no hockey talk” rule, so really, it was in everyone’s best interest to walk). And he’s still sober enough to feel the occasional twinge from his jacked up shoulder and he’s had about enough of that nonsense, so it’s definitely time for another round. 

He scrolls through his camera roll to see if he’s got any good photos of Kerf to use, but all the ones he has are group pictures, or at least of the roomies trio, so that’s a dead end. He thinks it would be funnier to use a picture of Kerf on the ice anyway, just to maximize the potential that someone recognizes him. Google it is, then. 

Tyson find him as he’s scrolling through the google hits and presses a drink into his hand before taking a swig of his own brightly-colored fruit-flavored monstrosity. Erik tilts his phone so Tys can see the screen and keeps looking at photos. All the on-ice shots are pretty similar, so he’s swiping through his options to see if anything jumps out at them when he gets a notification that Sam posted something to his Instagram story. He thumbs over to the app without thinking. Tyson bumps him with his shoulder, definitely harder than he needs to and probably harder than he meant. There’s a lot of booze in the shit he drinks. 

“What? I have notifications turned on for you too, man.” He does, too, and for the Avs official account, but that’s so he can make sure to troll Tyson (and himself, when the opportunity presents itself) with his finsta. “Gotta know when my boy is posting about me, you know?” Hopefully Tyson is too drunk to realize that Sam tags him in all those posts, so he’d get a notification anyway. Erik just likes to keep up with what his partner is up to, is all. There’s nothing deeper here. He’s definitely not overly invested in how his decade-younger defensive partner spends his free time in a way that’s more than bros. He takes a long gulp of his drink. He nearly drops it when he opens Sam’s story. It’s a video shot out a window, and even if Erik hadn’t recognized the view from his own hotel room here, the text, “vegas” followed the praise hands emoji, left little doubt of where Sam was. Erik taps back, watches it again, watches the Sam in the reflection wave to the camera, or possibly the Vegas skyline. He watches it again, pausing for a second when it gets to the point where the reflection of someone sitting on one of the beds is visible. Sam is here, but he’s with someone? 

Tyson jostles him again, much more gently this time, and Erik closes out of Instagram. “You good, dude?” Tyson asks him. 

Erik nods and forces his face into what he thinks is a totally normal smile. There’s no reason for him to be upset about this. He knows Sam has friends outside the team, it’s cool. “Yeah, all good here. I just thought he wasn’t coming, you know?”

“Like he was actually going to miss a birthday weekend with his boys in Vegas. He probably just had some shit to wrap up in Denver or something. Brass never said he wasn’t coming, just that he wasn’t flying out with us.”

Erik takes another sip of his drink. “Yeah. Anyway! What do you think of this for Kerf’s picture?” He opens his google search back up, taps on a random picture. Tyson agrees with his selection, so they make their way over to the DJ. 

Once they’ve gotten things squared away - they’ve got about half an hour before their “Welcome Alexander Kerfoot” message makes it into the rotation - Erik goes to pocket his phone. He pauses and opens up his messages and scrolls to his thread with Sam. “Saw you’re in Vegas, you gonna come hang with us?” He hits send before he can talk himself out of it, then shoves his phone back into his pocket and slams back the last of his drink. He throws his arm around Tyson and steers him towards where the rest of the boys are. “Let’s go see if we can get the kids to dance, huh?”

He’s aggressively grinding on Gabe, trying to get him to dance with the rest of them when he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. He’d check, but honestly, he’s committed to his mission, so he ignores it. It’s probably just a snap from Nate doped up on painkillers and whining about how pretty Willy is. “C’mon, Captain! You have to dance with us! It’s team bonding, man!” Gabe just laughs at him and shoves halfheartedly at his (good) shoulder. “What sort of example are you setting for the kids? You’re a terrible leader.” Erik turns around to grind his ass against Gabe, but his phone buzzes again, and then again. Who the fuck is calling him right now?

Sam. That’s who’s calling him. His whole phone screen is filled with a picture of the two of them on the ice, Erik draped over Sam’s back and staring directly into the camera as Sam turns towards him. The phone buzzes again in his hand, distracting him from staring and reminding him that the boy on the screen is trying to talk to him right now. That is… definitely something he should deal with. 

“Sammy G! What’s up, mon chum?” he says as he answers the phone, butchering the French like he always does. 

“Hi Erik! Sounds like you are having fun tonight.” Even over the pounding noise of the club, Sam’s laugh sounds like music in Erik’s ear.

“Where are you? You should be here! We’re dancing and they’re going to put pictures of Kerf up on the wall like they do on the ice! You have to be here to see!”

“That’s why I called you, _mon chum_ ,” and doesn’t that just fuck Erik all the way up, the way Sam’s voice gets deeper when he speaks French, “I need to know where you are so I can head there.”

“You bringing your friend along?” Erik tries to sound casual about it, but he’s a little anxious to know the answer. He doesn’t mind Sam’s friends, but he’d rather just have Sam by himself. It’s fine. 

“Oh, no. He has his own thing going on tonight. I will see him in the morning. Are you going to tell me where you are or not?”

Erik resolutely ignores the way his stomach swoops when he hears that Sam will be coming on his own and gives him the name of the club and Sam lets him know he’ll be there in about 20 minutes. He grins and shoves his phone back into his pocket, then turns back to Gabe. “Gabe. Gabriel. My captain. My best friend and the light of my life. You have to dance when Sammy gets here. It’s his birthday!” Gabe just laughs and pats him on the shoulder before shoving him towards where Mikko is dancing in the middle of JT, Kerf, and Nieto. Mikko makes eye contact with him over the boys and lunges towards him. 

“EJ! Come dance with us! No wait, we go do shots first, then dance!” And who is Erik to say no to his blond behemoth of a teammate anyway? Off to the bar they go and Erik honestly isn’t even sure what it is they do shots of, but he doesn’t really care because he’s had kind of a lot of alcohol already tonight and his very favorite teammate is on his way and he’s almost forgotten why they all decided to go on this trip anyway, so he knocks back the second one Mikko pushes towards him and takes the drink JT slides his way for good measure. His boys are so good. 

Tyson finds them on the dance floor and reminds Erik that their surprise for Kerf should be happening any minute now. Erik digs in his pocket, trying to find his phone as he looks around to find Alexander so he can capture the moment he sees what they’ve done, and somehow he ends up on his ass on the floor. He’s right next to the drum kit, which is incredibly loud when it’s at ear level (and why the fuck is there a drummer in this club???), but Kerf is right next to him, so all things considered, it worked out pretty well. He points his phone towards the projection in time to see “WELCOME ALEXANDER KERFOOT” appear and then get replaced with the photo he and Tyson had picked of Kerf on the ice in an away jersey. He pans up to Kerf’s face to catch his reaction. Kerf laughs and looks a little embarrassed, but mostly just resigned to the fact that this is how his teammates act. Erik is going to call this one a wild success. 

He should probably be somewhat concerned about the fact that he’s sitting on the floor of a club, but honestly getting back up sounds like a lot of work, and the boys think it’s hilarious that he’s staying where he is. He makes a game out of grabbing at whoever comes within reach, trying to drag them down with him. He nearly gets Barrie down before Mikko catches him and holds him upright, and he successfully wrestles Nieto into his lap for a few seconds and gets an elbow to the ribs for his troubles. After a few more minutes of lunging at his teammates’ ankles, Cole puts an end to the game by bending down and hoisting Erik over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry. Say what you will about the dude’s play, but he’s one of the only guys on the team big enough to haul Erik around and there are moments like this when Erik appreciates it. 

He’s there, hanging more or less upside-down over Colesy’s shoulder trying to tell him just that when he feels a hand land on his head. “Oh, Erik. Do I even want to know?” Sam laughs and Erik is pretty sure it’s the single greatest thing he’s ever heard. Erik smacks at Ian’s back and demands to be put down, then proceeds to launch himself at his defensive partner. He wraps his arms around Sam’s (very well muscled) waist and hauls him up into a hug that leaves his feet dangling inches off the ground. 

“Sammy G! The birthday boy! You made it!”

Sam just laughs again and wraps his arms around Erik’s neck. Erik is happier than he’s maybe ever been. He spins around once before placing Sam back on the ground. He slides an arm around the kid’s shoulders and pulls him in close, humming happily as Sam settles against him. The rest of the boys obviously want to say hi to Sam, so Erik does have to let him go for a minute, but he comes right back and tucks himself into Erik’s side once everyone has exchanged fist bumps and bro hugs. He tries not to read too much into it, but Erik definitely feels a little thrill knowing that Sam chose to come back to him. 

“Nearly midnight! Who’s buying birthday boy his first drink?” Mikko shouts at the group over the blaring music.   
Gabe, who has re-embraced his role as Captain now that it no longer involves dancing with Erik, volunteers and disappears through the crowd in the general direction of the bar. 

“You’re not going to buy my first drink, _mon chum_?” Sam grins up at him, squeezes the arm around his waist a little tighter. Erik can’t breathe for a minute. Maybe it’s the copious amount of booze in his system, or the colored lights playing across Sam’s face, but honestly, Erik thinks this is the most beautiful Sam has ever looked. He has an almost overwhelming urge to bend down and kiss the smirk off of Sam’s face. He’s still got his wits about him enough to know that it’s a terrible idea, so he just pulls Sam a little closer with the arm around his shoulders and gives him a little shake. 

“Don’t worry, bud, I’ll get you a drink tonight. Couldn’t steal the first one from Landy though, you know he’d pout.”

They stay there, arms around each other while they watch their teammates dance. Gravy looks like an awkward baby giraffe trying to move his long limbs to the beat, and Erik says as much to Sam just to hear him laugh. Barrie has somehow ended up dancing between Kerf and Comph, which is one of the funnier things Erik has ever seen. Barbs and Cole are mostly watching, standing off to the side like they’re not entirely sure they want to be associated with this mob of wildly uncoordinated idiots. Honestly, with the way Mikko is flailing around completely offbeat, Erik thinks it may actually be concern for their safety that’s keeping them away, which seems reasonable. He’s hit with a wave of fondness for his team. The season may not have had the end they wanted, but they’re a good group and here, with Sam tucked against his side watching the rest of them dance like they don’t have a care in the world, he can’t imagine they’re destined for anything but greatness. 

Speaking of greatness, Gabe appears through the throng of people, carrying a tray loaded up with bottles and glasses and a single shot glass that’s at least half full of whipped cream. 

“Alright, boys, drinks are here. But first, the birthday boy has to do a shot!” Gabe slides the tray onto the nearest table and moves the shot glass off the tray. Erik pushes Sam towards their captain and Sam reaches out to grab the shot from the table. 

“Nuh uh, I don’t think so. It’s a blowjob shot, Samuel. You have to do it without hands.” Tyson looks way too excited to be telling Sam this. Gabe just smiles his stupid movie star smile as Sam looks at Tyson in disbelief. Erik is approximately 73% sure he’s going to die and it’s his best friend’s fault. He’s absolutely going to come back and haunt Gabe’s smug ass for this. 

Sam rolls his eyes as he lifts his hands in surrender before clasping them behind his back. As he leans forward to take the shot, he flicks his eyes up and meets Erik’s. He stays like that, eyes locked on Erik’s as he wraps his lips around the rim of the shot glass, only breaking eye contact to tip his head back and swallow the shot. The likelihood of Erik dying tonight skyrockets to 100%, then passes that as Sam deposits the glass back down on the table and licks stray whipped cream from the corner of his mouth. Erik is going to die on the spot. He’s going to murder Gabe, and then he’s going to die. 

The boys are all cheering and slapping Sam on the back. More than one of them makes a comment about how he took that like a champ, and Erik grabs the nearest bottle to him and pours a drink, not caring what it is. He lifts the glass to his mouth so he doesn’t say anything stupid like how he’s got something else Sam could take like a champ. Instead, he downs about half his drink and moves over to Sam, obnoxiously ruffles his hair and says “happy birthday, kiddo.” 

“I am not a kid, Erik. I can even drink in your backwards country now, so I am definitely an adult,” Sam says, looking up at him with those big, dark eyes. Erik squeezes his shoulder. 

“Whatever you say, Sammy. Whatever you say.”

With that, Erik places his glass on the table and turns, spots Barrie. “TBeauty!” he hollers, “let’s go show these kids how it’s done!” He walks towards Tyson more or less on-beat, bouncing his shoulders as ridiculously as possible. Tyson, of course, takes the bait and dances towards him in equally ridiculous fashion. 

The two of them spend the rest of the song trying to outdo the other with absurd dance moves. Erik tries, with limited success, to drop it low (damn his shitty knee) and Tyson attempts his best approximation of twerking. Ian is nearly in tears watching them, and Matt is definitely looking around like he’s trying to make sure no one thinks he’s with these idiots. Kerf makes the mistake of getting close enough that Erik reaches out and grabs his arm. “Come on, Harvard, let’s see what you got!” 

Alexander starts to dance, and Erik dances up on his back. “You know you want in on this, Compher,” he taunts, and JT rises to the challenge, winding his arms around Kerf’s neck. Erik feels a body press against his back, and a look back reveals it to be Mikko, grinning and disheveled. Before long, the entire group is dancing, pressed close and bumping into each other. Bottles from the table somehow make it out into their cluster, passed from hand to hand. 

Erik is in the middle of the mass of dancing hockey players and suddenly Sam is too. Erik really isn’t sure where he came from, but all at once he’s there, legs slotted between Erik’s and arms wrapped around Erik’s neck. His hair, neatly coiffed when he had showed up, is now an unruly mass of curls and the skin of his throat glistens with sweat. It’s only natural for Erik to wrap his hands around Sam’s hips. “Having a good birthday, Sammy?”

Sam beams up at him and nods before pushing up on his toes to get closer to Erik’s ear. “Could still be better though. Someone still owes me a drink.” 

Erik slides one arm around to Sam’s lower back, holding him up on his toes. Sam’s arms tighten around Erik’s neck, and they’re already pressed so close together like this, but it still doesn’t feel close enough. Rather than dwell on that, Erik chuckles into the dark curls near his face. “The ludicrous amounts of alcohol Landy brought over aren’t enough for you then?”

Sam turns his face to give Erik his very best pout. “But you promised! You said you would let Gabe get my first, and he got that, and my second and,” he pauses and thinks for a minute, “a lot more after that, and you still haven’t bought me a drink, _mon chum_.” 

Erik is pretty sure he can feel his heart skip a beat at that. The whole “mon chum” thing had started as a joke, their response to the rest of the team chirping them for spending so much time together, and over the past few months, it had grown a little more serious, a little more into this vague maybe-flirtation that Erik tried not to think about too much for fear of driving himself crazy, but this? They way Sam had practically purred as he said it, pressed against him and looking up through his eyelashes? That felt like a whole lot more. Sam licks his lower lip and Erik can’t look away. He’s had a list of reasons why this is a terrible idea since he first realized that he might have a little bit of a thing for Sam - they’re teammates, they’re partners for fuck’s sake, he’s a decade older than this kid and on his way out while Sam is just starting his career - but the way Sam is looking at him right now makes all those reasons seem irrelevant. It would be so easy to close the distance and cover Sam’s lips with his own and fuck, he wants to so badly. 

Someone crashes into them, and the moment is broken. Erik feels like someone dumped a bucket of icy water over his head. What had he been thinking? He drops his arms from Sam’s waist and looks to see who ran them over. The human wrecking ball, unsurprisingly, was a beaming Mikko. “Birthday Boy! And EJ! We go to a new club now!” He grabs them both and tows them towards the door. 

Their new destination is just a few blocks down, so they walk. They take up the entire sidewalk with their band of large, loud, drunk men, but everyone else out in the wee hours of the morning in Vegas is in a similar state, it seems, so no one seems particularly bothered by them. Tyson is the first one to notice it when they pass by a wedding chapel. The neon sign is every bit as gaudy and off-putting as expected and Barrie seems truly delighted. He makes them all stop so he can get a good photo of the sign. 

“So, which of you losers are getting married tonight? Too bad your boy’s in Slovakia, eh, Jimothy?”

JT predictably goes red, but Kerf, tucked under JT’s arm, blushes too. Barrie doesn’t seem to notice and just plows on, harassing the other guys about marrying the first pretty girl they can find in the next club and bemoaning the fact that Gabe is already married, so he can’t get married in Vegas. His eyes light up dangerously when he sees Sam though. “Wait, wait, I’ve got it! Sammy has to get married! Your birthday is definitely the best time to get married in Vegas! What’s your type, Sammy G? I’m a fucking great wingman.” 

Erik is sure he’s making it up when he sees Sam’s eyes dart towards him before he shoves at Tyson. “I don’t want to get married to a stranger tonight, Barrie. You should get married if you are so worried.”

“Yeah, Four, let’s find you someone to marry,” teases Gabe, and the boys are off again, ribbing Tyson about who he would marry in Vegas. 

Tyson turns to Erik with the closest approximation of an evil grin he can manage, and says “I’d say EJ should get married, but I don’t think you can marry a horse, even in Vegas.” Erik wants to come up with a witty quip about how you can’t truly tame a horse, but honestly, he’s too drunk for that, so he just sticks his tongue out and puts Tyson in a headlock. The resulting scuffle successfully ends the marriage conversation. 

***  
The new club is a lot like the one they just left, dark and hazy with pounding music and flashing lights. Erik isn’t really sure why they bothered changing locations, and wonders for a minute if maybe he really is getting too old for this. But Cole is basically his age, and married to boot, and he still looks like he’s he’s having the time of his life. Erik’s brief moment of introspection is broken when Sam sidles up to him smiling sweetly. “You still owe me a birthday drink, you know.” He slides his hand into Erik’s and starts through the crowd in the direction of the bar and Erik can’t do anything but follow. 

Sam lets go of Erik’s hand once they get to the bar, but he stays close, so Erik wraps his arm around Sam’s shoulders. He feels Sam’s arm slip around his waist as he leans forward to try to get the attention of a bartender. Gabe appears at his other side, most of the rest of the team in tow. Erik figures if he’s already getting Sam a drink, he might as well be a good Alternate and buy a round for the rest of the boys, so he starts trying to collect drink orders. He 100% does not hear a word of whatever pretentious cocktail Kerf is explaining to him because Sam’s hand has moved from his hip to tuck into his back pocket. 

“Sorry man, you’re going to have to run that one by me again,” Erik says once his brain comes back online. 

“You might want to mix in a water there, EJ,” Kerf chuckles, as if he isn’t listing into JT right at this very moment. 

“Yeah yeah, okay rookie. You want your fancy drink or not?”

Drinks get ordered - Kerf tells the bartender what he wants because Erik is not about to figure out what it is the kid is trying to order - and most of the guys end up moving back towards the dance floor or the tables they’ve claimed. Sam is still pressed close with his hand tucked in Erik’s back pocket, so Erik makes an executive decision to not leave his spot at the bar in case that makes Sam want to stop touching him. He looks down at his defensive partner and just drinks in the sight. After all the dancing and drinking, Sam’s cheeks are flushed the prettiest pink, and his curls are even more disheveled and Erik really isn’t sure if he should be cursing or thanking whatever deities put this beautiful boy in his arms right now. He looks too long though, because Sam looks up through his eyelashes and meets Erik’s eyes. Erik is definitely drunk, but the way his head spins has nothing to do with the booze and everything to do with the way Sam is looking at him. He’d give up hockey and the horses and probably even sing on Pepsi Vision if it meant Sam would keep looking at him like that, like he was going to absolutely destroy Erik and make him like it. 

Erik frantically tries to come up with something to say, something to break this moment before he does something stupid like let Sam follow through on that look, but his mind is completely devoid of a single coherent thought. He’s still searching for a graceful exit when Sam places his drink back on the bar. Then the hand that had been holding the drink is on the back of Erik’s neck, tugging him down, and Sam’s lips are on his and Erik might have actually died. The kiss is surprisingly sweet and gentle for all the tension that had been simmering. Erik presses into the kiss until his brain comes back online, and then pulls back. 

“Sam, Sammy, fuck, Sammy, we can’t…” he can’t figure out exactly what he’s trying to say because holy fuck does he want to keep kissing, but he knows this can’t be happening right now, not in this club, not while they’re both stupid drunk. Sam looks up at him like he’s just kicked his dog and also maybe sucker-punched him in the gut. 

“Why not? You want this, I know you do, and I want this. Come on, Erik. There is no reason not to do this.”

Erik is caught. When Sam puts it that way, it’s hard to come up with a reason to say no. He’d be lying if he said hearing Sam admit out loud that he wanted to be with Erik didn’t just about knock him out. But there are way too many other things to consider here - their ages, their jobs, the fact that they’re both wasted - for Erik to let this go any further. 

“You have no idea how much I want this, Sammy, but we can’t. Not tonight. We have to talk. We can’t just do this, okay? We have to talk first.”

Sam looks like he’s going to protest, but Erik wraps a hand around his bicep and squeezes gently and Sam pauses. “In the morning. We will talk tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning, whenever you want. I promise.” The moment feels heavy and Erik needs to break it somehow, so he downs the rest of his drink and flags down the bartender, orders another round for him and for Sam. “Tonight, though, it’s still your birthday, which means we need to go dance.” With that, he pulls Sam to the dance floor and pushes him into the middle of their teammates. Mikko dances up on him immediately, and Erik feels like he can breathe again. He knows there’s probably a fair bit of thinking he needs to do before the morning, but honestly, getting absolutely plastered and dancing with his idiot teammates seems better, so he opts for that. 

***

There’s a brief moment right as Erik is waking up where he feels fine, but as he comes to full consciousness, the hangover hits him like a freight train. Why the actual fuck did he drink so much? He’s way too old for this shit, he should know better. He doesn’t dare open his eyes yet. His head feels like Nate is practicing one-timers against the inside of his skull and his stomach rolls in a way that means there’s no way he’s eating anything for a long time for fear of vomiting. He’s still trying to figure out the rest of the damage his hangover is doing to him when he hears a sleepy groan off to his side and an arm is suddenly draped over his stomach. His eyes fly open, hangover be damned, and yep, that is why he fucking drank so much last night. 

Sam is in his bed, curls wild on the pillow, and his arm is currently thrown across Erik’s very unclothed torso. Sam is wearing a shirt, at least, but that’s not doing a lot to quell Erik’s panic. He knows that he had told Sam they weren’t doing anything last night. They had agreed to talk this morning, he remembers that clearly. Everything after that is a blur though, so he’s got no idea how he ended up here. Staying here cuddling with Sam isn’t going to get him any answers though, so as gently as he can, he moves out from under Sam’s arm and out of the bed. His phone is mercifully on the bedside table and plugged in, so he grabs that and heads to the bathroom. 

He pees and brushes his teeth, which makes him feel at least a tiny bit more human and prepared to address this situation, and then picks his phone up from the counter to call Gabe. Best case scenario, his best friend will know what happened. Worst case, at least Gabe is someone for Erik to freak out to before he has to go out and deal with the fact that Sam is in his bed. It rings for a minute before kicking over to voicemail, and Erik hangs up and calls back, hoping that Gabe doesn’t have his phone on do not disturb and the continual ringing will wake him up. “Come on Gabe, pick up, pick up,” he mutters to himself and taps his left hand against the counter and startles. 

The clink of metal against the ceramic of the bathroom counter draws Erik’s attention to his left hand, or more specifically, the fucking ring he hadn’t noticed on that hand. On his ring finger. Like a wedding ring. Motherfucker. 

There’s no way he got married, he tells himself. The boys wouldn’t have actually let him drunkenly marry someone. This is just Barrie’s idea of a joke or something. It’s fine. He just… he really needs Gabe to answer his fucking phone right the fuck now, because if this ring and Sam in his bed are at all related, he’s about to lose his entire mind. 

He calls Gabe a third time and is seriously contemplating figuring out which room is his and going to bang on the door when Gabe finally picks up. “The hell, EJ? Why are you calling so early?”

Erik doesn’t feel even the smallest bit guilty for waking Gabe up. This is a crisis, god damn it. “Did I get married last night?”

There’s no response from Gabe, so Erik just keeps going. “Did I get married last night? Because I woke up this morning with a baby defenseman in my bed and a ring on my hand and I have NO idea how either of those things happened and I really need you to tell me what we did last night.”

“Makar is in your bed? He didn’t even come to Vegas with us.” Gabe sounds half asleep and deeply confused. 

“Not the new kid, Jesus. Sam. Sam is in my bed, Gabe. I don’t know what’s going on, but I woke up with Sam trying to be the big spoon.”

“Oh, okay.” Gabe is quiet for a minute, like he’s still processing that, and then, “Well, I don’t know what the big deal is. That’s what you want, right?”

Erik is going to murder his best friend. He regrets ever acknowledging that he has feelings to Gabe ever, especially ones regarding his tiny defensive partner. Beyond that, though, Gabe is entirely missing the point. 

“Gabe. Gabriel. Landeskog. Landy. My Captain, my best friend. Gabe. You are missing the entire point, which is that I don’t know WHY or HOW Sam is in my bed and also I AM WEARING WHAT APPEARS TO BE A WEDDING RING. Whether or not I am happy about finding Sam in my bed is IRRELEVANT! What did we do last night, Gabe? I need to know!” 

“Okay, but you are happy about Sam though, right?”

“Gabe, have you been listening to anything I’ve been saying to you? I’m wearing a wedding ring, I-”

“Erik?” Sam calls out from the bedroom, “ _Qu’est-ce qui ce passe?_ Why are you yelling?”

“Fuck, I gotta go.” Erik hangs up the phone. Not only did he not get any answers, he also successfully robbed himself of any time to prepare for how to face Sam. He takes a deep breath and pulls the bathroom door open. 

Sam is still in the bed, although he’s now on the side Erik left when he got up, and he still looks half asleep and so soft. Erik has half a moment where he just treasures getting to see Sam like this, first thing in the morning, before the panic catches back up. 

“Sammy, hey bud. How you feeling?”

Sam groans and buries his face in the pillows and Erik feels his heart clench. “That good, huh? Well, that’s sort of to be expected celebrating your birthday in Vegas. You knew the boys weren’t going to go easy on you.”

Sam flaps his arm against the bed. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Why are you up so early anyway? And what was the yelling about?”

“Yeah, um, sorry about that. I needed to talk to Gabe about something, but I didn’t realize it was so early, so. Yeah. Anyway. I didn’t mean to wake you up. You can go back to bed, I’m just gonna…” he trails off, looks around the room. He needs to get out of here so he can figure out what the fuck is going on.

“Erik.” Erik walks over to his suitcase and starts digging through it, although he’s not sure why. “Erik.” He looks back at Sam. “Come back to bed. It is too early. You can’t have anything to be doing.” 

“I…” he gestures uselessly, not sure where he’s going with the sentence. He really doesn’t have anything to be doing and honestly, going to bed and praying some of his hangover goes away does sound really appealing. 

“Come here,” Sam says, patting the bed next to him, and Erik feels his resolve breaking. Whatever happened last night, they can deal with it in a few more hours. It’s not like anything is going to change in a few hours other than Erik maybe being a little more prepared to deal with the situation after some more sleep. He throws his phone back onto the table and crawls into bed. Sam immediately curls up around him and is asleep moments later. It doesn’t take long for Erik to drift off after that. 

***  
When Erik wakes for the second time that morning, he’s the one wrapped around Sam. He’s spooned up against the smaller defenseman, arm around his waist pulling him close and nose buried in his hair. It’s very possibly the best way to wake up that Erik can think of. Before he can second-guess himself, he presses a kiss to the top of Sam’s head. He considers waking Sam up so they can talk, but he looks so cozy curled up in bed, and Erik selfishly wants to have a few more minutes to prepare before he has to figure out exactly how much of his life he fucked up last night, so ultimately he decides he’ll let Sam sleep. 

He goes to untangle his arms from around Sam, but as careful as he is, his movement makes Sam stir, and he grabs the hand Erik has on Sam’s chest. Sam threads his fingers through Erik’s and pulls Erik’s arm closer to him and Erik feels his heart squeeze in his chest. He’s way too far gone on Sam and this is just not helping. He pushes himself upright to make it easier to free himself from Sam’s surprisingly tight grip on him and his eyes catch on their linked hands on Sam’s chest. The silver band on his ring finger is nestled next to a matching one on Sam’s. Well, Erik thinks somewhat helplessly, that explains at least some of the mystery of last night. He’s married to Sam. He… really doesn’t have a clue how to begin this conversation. He’s pretty sure that putting it off is really only going to make him panic though, so he reverses his earlier decision about waking Sam up. 

He tugs his hand from Sam’s and places it on his shoulder, shaking him gently. “Sammy. Hey Sammy, wake up.” 

Sam grumbles wordlessly and turns his face up to scowl at Erik as he blinks his eyes open. Erik wants nothing more than to kiss the expression from his face. 

“G’morning, sunshine. How are you feeling?”

Sam’s glower deepens. “Why you wake me up, Erik?” His accent is heavier now, like he’s not awake enough for the English-speaking part of his brain to have booted up fully and Erik has a flash of wondering what else might make Sam lose his ability to speak English. He tamps that down quickly, because this is clearly not the time or place, damnit.

“How much do you remember from last night?” 

Sam looks puzzled for a minute, like he can’t understand why Erik would wake him up just to ask him something that stupid, but then his mouth quirks up into a small smile. “We kissed, but you made us stop. Did you wake me up so we could talk?” His smile shifts to something more predatory. “Or did you wake me up so we could talk?” Sam grinds his ass back against Erik as if the intonation wasn’t clear enough and Erik has to stop himself from moaning. This is unfair and also really not conducive to the very important conversation they need to have, is all he can think. 

Erik pushes himself all the way to sitting in the hopes that a little physical distance might make having this talk a little easier. “We do need to talk - and I mean talk, like with words - but that’s not why I woke you up. Do you remember anything after the club?”

“No, not really? Why is it so important?”

Taking a deep breath to prepare himself, Erik holds up his left hand to show Sam the ring. “Because I think we got married.”

Erik really isn’t sure what reaction he expected, but it’s certainly not Sam sitting up and reaching out slowly to brush a finger over the ring on Erik’s hand like it’s something precious. 

“You’ve got one too.” It comes out as a whisper, like if he says it too loud, Sam will startle and realize what an absolute disaster this whole situation is. Sam picks up his hand and looks at his own ring, then back at Erik’s, then back at his own. Sam places his hand - the one with the ring - on Erik’s cheek and it makes Erik’s breath catch. Sam leans forward and presses his lips gently against Erik’s in an impossibly sweet kiss. 

“We got married,” Sam says, pulling just far enough away that their lips part. He giggles and presses a kiss to the tip of Erik’s nose. “I knew you wanted me, _mon chum_ , but I did not realize you wanted to marry me!”

Erik has 100% lost the plot here. He’s in the twilight zone. This is not how this is supposed to go. What newly-minted twenty-one-year-old rising hockey star wakes up married to his decade-older, fading talent defensive partner and is excited about it? Apparently Sam, who has cuddled up to him and grabbed his hand and is just petting his thumb over the ring on Erik’s finger.

“Sam, bud, we have to talk about this. We have to - fuck, I don’t know, but we definitely need to call our agents about this, at least. Coach? Maybe not, I dunno what Bedsy would do about this anyway, but Sakic? Shit, I don’t know. And probably we need to find a lawyer. But I bet one of our agents has a good option for that. Motherfucker, this is going to be such an uncomfortable phone call.”

“Lawyer? Why do we need a lawyer?” Sam sounds as lost as Erik feels, which is really not helping Erik feel like he’s at all in control of this situation. 

“To get the marriage annulled. I bet it’s pretty straightforward, all things considered. Like, we’re definitely not the first people to get married in Vegas and not actually intend to, but I’m pretty sure we still need a lawyer to at least sign off on shit. This kind of thing happens all the time, right? That’s the whole joke about Vegas! Oh fuck, we have to find the marriage license, they probably need that for legal reasons. Where would we have put that?” Erik knows he’s rambling, but when he glances over, Sam looks small and sad and he just doesn’t know how to deal with that, so he keeps running his mouth as he gets up to try to find the piece of paper that proves that this whole thing isn’t a booze- and exhaustion-fueled dream. 

Before he gets all the way off the bed though, Sam grabs his wrist. “You do not want to be married to me?” He sounds so timid and Erik wants to fight anyone who ever makes Sam sound like that, which he realizes means he has to fight himself, which. Not ideal, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s wanted to do that.

“Sammy, we can’t… I mean… we just… um.” He’s really not sure what to say, because the honest answer isn’t no. The truth is he does want to be married to Sam, despite all the reasons it really shouldn’t happen. At the very least, Sam is miles out of his league, But he does actually want this. It’s just that when he had thought about it, it was always in some hazy future, after he retired. Not now, when they weren’t even dating, hadn’t even actually really even admitted that there was anything more than friendship between them. Still, Sam sounds genuinely distraught at the idea of Erik not wanting to be married to him. So Erik backtracks. 

“Do you want us to be married?”

“This is not how I thought it would happen,” Sam starts and he looks so painfully earnest that Erik doesn’t know what to do with himself, “but I do want it. I have wanted to be with you for so long. I did not know how to tell you, but I love you, Erik.”

Erik forgets how to breath, hearing that. Sam is looking at him, big brown eyes full of worry, and Erik has to kiss him. “Sammy,” he whispers, and cups the back of Sam’s head to pull him in. The kiss starts tender, Erik trying to pour all of his feelings into it, to reassure Sam that he loves him too, but then Sam parts his lips and catches Erik’s bottom lip between his teeth and it gets heated and hungry. Erik presses his forehead to Sam’s when they break apart to catch their breath. “Fuck, Sam. I think I’ve been in love with you since the first time we played together. I never thought you would want this though.”

Sam curls up against his side and tucks his face into the crook of Erik’s neck. “Why would I not want this?” He presses kisses along Erik’s neck. “Why would I not want you?” He catches the lobe of Erik’s ear between his teeth and pulls gently, and Erik has a hard time putting words together for a second. 

“Because I’m me and you’re you, Sam! You’re so young and so good, you’re just at the beginning of your career and you’re a star already and you’re just going to get better. And I’m just an old man who fucked up and never lived up to his potential. Why would you want anything to do with a guy who’s at the end of his career and falling apart? You should be with someone young and beautiful like you, not someone a decade older than you who never remembers to put his false teeth in!”

“Hey!” Sam looks incredibly peeved. “You do not talk about yourself like that. You are so good, but I love you for more than your hockey, _mon chum_. You take care of all the boys, you look out for us and always make us laugh. And you are very handsome even without your teeth.” He punctuates the last statement with a kiss. 

“You really want this, don’t you?” Erik still isn’t sure he believes that this is real, that it isn’t some sort of hallucination brought on by postseason exhaustion and too much alcohol, but Sam threads his fingers into Erik’s hair and tugs him in for another kiss and Erik decides he’s had enough doubting this for now. He wraps his hands around Sam’s thighs and pulls him into his lap. Sam moans against his lips and presses closer, kisses down his neck to nip and kiss at his collar bone. Erik works his hands under Sam’s shirt and runs them over the soft skin of his back and sides, admiring the solid muscle he still has even after a grueling season and two long rounds of playoffs. Sam grinds down in his lap and Erik brings one hand down to grab his ass and pull him closer. He can feel where Sam is hard, dick pressing into his stomach where he’s grinding against Erik, and if they keep up like this, it won’t take Erik much longer to get there too. 

Erik slides his hands up, starting to lift up Sam’s shirt. “This should come off, yeah?” 

Sam detaches himself from the hickey he’s working into the join of Erik’s neck long enough for Erik to pull the offending article of clothing off. The press of their bare chests is heady and Erik drops his head to Sam’s shoulder and just takes a moment to breath and revel in the moment. He really has a half-naked Sam Girard in his lap and they’re married. 

Sam catches one of his nipples between his teeth and Erik gasps and shudders, brought back to the moment in a hurry. He slides the hand that had been on Sam’s back up into his hair and traces his other along the waistband of Sam’s shorts. 

“Is this okay?” He already sounds wrecked, just from kissing, but he’s not surprised that that’s the effect Sam has on him. 

Sam pulls off of his nipple and looks up, eyes blown wide. “Please. Please, touch me.” He grinds down again, and this time Erik’s dick is fully on board with what’s happening. Erik slips his hand into Sam’s shorts and palms the globe of Sam’s ass. Erik uses the hand in Sam’s hair to tilt his head up and licks into his mouth. Sam rocks against him, desperately seeking friction. It’s so good, and they stay there like that, just kissing and grinding against each other until Erik is closer than he has any business being. 

He refuses to let the first time he has sex with Sam - with his husband! - end with the two of them coming in their shorts like teenagers after grinding for a few minutes, so he pulls back from the kiss to catch his breath. “Let me blow you?”

Sam says something in French and nods frantically. “Yes, please!”

Erik flips them and presses Sam down into the bed so he’s sprawled on his back. He doesn’t normally put a lot of thought into his size when he’s off the ice, but Erik definitely gets a thrill from the ease with which he can move Sam around, and from the way Sam moans when Erik settles over him, it sounds like Sam is pretty into it too. Erik kisses down Sam’s chest, marvelling at his soft skin and how much strength is packed into his compact frame. He makes a mental note that the next time they do this, when they have more time, he’s going to map out every inch of this boy’s body with his mouth. For now though, he’s on a mission. He kisses down to Sam’s waistband and slips his fingers underneath. Sam lifts his hips and Erik slides the shorts down over his thighs and off. Sam’s cock is flushed and hard, shiny at the head with precome and Erik can’t wait to get his mouth on it. He settles between Sam’s thighs and wraps a hand around his hip before licking up his dick from base to tip and sucking the tip into his mouth. He teases at the tip with his tongue before opening his lips and taking Sam down as far as he can. Somewhat nonsensically, he thinks to himself that missing half his front teeth has its perks in this particular instance and he chuckles as well as he can with a mouth full of dick. Sam gasps out something in French when he does it, so Erik hums and gets a beautiful moan out of Sam, who reaches down and pets at his hair. 

Erik sets himself to bobbing his mouth on Sam’s cock, tonguing at the head at the top and humming occasionally as he takes Sam deeper. It doesn’t take long before Sam tugs at his hair and gasps out “Erik, I..” and some French that Erik doesn’t actually know but takes to mean that Sam is about to come. He pulls off and strokes Sam through his orgasm, transfixed by the look of pleasure on his face. 

Now that Sam has been taken care of, Erik’s own arousal becomes the only thing he can focus on. He shoves his shorts off and crawls up the bed to straddle Sam’s thighs and wraps a hand around his dick, stroking quickly. Sam licks his lips and reaches out, grabs Erik’s wrist and gently tugs it away and replaces Erik’s hand with his own. He matches the pace Erik had set, and between that, the look of awe on Sam’s face as he stroke’s Erik’s dick, and just the overwhelming knowledge that it’s Sam’s hand on him, it doesn’t take long before Erik is coming, adding to the mess on Sam’s chest. 

Erik braces himself on his arms over Sam long enough to catch his breath and then settles on the bed next to him. Sam’s hair is wild, a few tendrils matted to his forehead with sweat, but mostly just spread riotously over the pillow and Erik can’t resist leaning over and pressing a kiss to the top of Sam’s head before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Sam laces his fingers into Erik’s and smiles at him. “ _Je t’aime, mon chum_.”

Just then, Sam’s stomach lets out a startlingly loud growl and they both burst into surprised laughter. 

“So much for afterglow, huh? Let’s get you cleaned up and then get some food.”

Erik swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands, then moves around to the other side of the bed to pull Sam up. He keeps Sam’s hand in his as he leads him to the bathroom, where he wets a washcloth and wipes Sam’s chest and stomach clean. Once he’s wiped down, Erik pulls him in close and gives him a soft kiss. “I love you too.”

They leave the bathroom and settle back down in the bed. Erik grabs his phone from the bedside table. “Guess we should make sure the rest of the boys are alive so we can get brunch.” Sam hums in acknowledgement and cuddles closer. 

They’re definitely going to have to deal with the reality of their situation - they did just get gay married as professional hockey players, after all - but right now, Erik just wants food and he wants to celebrate with his boys. And to kiss his husband. He snaps a picture as he pulls Sammy in to kiss him, ring clearly visible. He sends it to the Vegas group with the caption “Which one of you pigeons is buying us first day as husbands brunch?”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have any fic-specific social media, but feel free to come hang out with me on twitter, where I'm probably screaming about hockey. I'm @mackstreetboys


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